Mirage
by Kuroneko Hikage
Summary: With the power to see and do things beyond any normal human, Kurosaki Ichigo finds himself in a weird position when he lands a job to play detective with an old, and somewhat infamous case. His client is Hitsugaya Toshiro, and and he has to wonder, what does the kid get out of all this? Revenge? Relief? Closure? IchiHitsu. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Mirage  
**Author:** Me  
**Rating:** T (M if I continue with this particular line of thought)  
**Pairing:** IchiHitsu Disclaimer: Bleach and characters not mine... D8 Nooooooooo...  
**Summary:** "...you would be surprised at how many people who -don't- need my services end up in my office anyway..."  
**Warnings:** Language (for now)  
**AN:** U.P. is being a stink... Or rather, Aizen's cooperation... This is just a random idea I had. Typed everything up at work, so it's not perfect. Is it worth going further? Please let me know in all of your reviews, follows and favorites! -Bows-

**-Cuts the cherryribbon-**

Ichigo glanced across his darkened office, away from the intense glow of his computer screen, as three consecutive knocks on his door indicated his next scheduled appointment. He glanced at the clock. Correction: his next and last appointment of the day, as it was five in the afternoon, merely half an hour before his shift finally ends and he can quietly celebrate his birthday as a mini-vacation over the weekend. He was never one for huge parties, not even in high school. Tatsuki and Orihime could attest to that.

He turned on his desk lamp to medium, not enough to a blinding light, but just enough to make sure the monitor wasn't the only source of light in the room. There was no need to make his client nervous or uneasy with thoughts of the orange-top being some sort of cave-dwelling occult worshiper.

The standard-issue office chair squeaked in protest as he lifted himself from an hour's worth of uncomfortable positions cramping up his muscles. Wincing, he instantly started to walk the cramp out, dusting off imaginary specks of dust and strings of hair as he walked toward the door across his office. It wasn't a huge room, but it wasn't a small cubicle, either. The carpet was a soft grey, and the walls a dusky blue. He'd wanted to paint it a darker, richer blue, but his boss - the cheap bastard that he is - wouldn't allow him that. The desk itself, and the shelves around the room, were modern black and steel, holding up picture frames, books and various knickknacks he'd come to collect. Behind his desk was a wall of glass, floor-to-ceiling windows that were hidden behind horizontal blinds - another tacky sight. Nope, not allowed curtains.

Aside from the cozy couch against the wall next to the door, and the two chairs on the other side of his desk, that was the complete illustrations of his home away from home. He'd lkost count of how many times he had slept on that couch in this past week alone. He was looking forward to his soft, cozy bed. All he had to do was get through this last meeting, someone named Hit-sugia, or something...

Grabbing the cold handle, metal creaked as he pulled the door fully open, letting the harsh, overhead hall lights glare into his dilated eyes. At first he was blinded, and he had to resist raising his hand up to shield his eyes from the offending brightness. When his eyes adjusted long enough for him to stop squinting, he looked down slightly at the short person standing before him. Spiky white hair, glaring teal eyes, and an attitude that Ichigo didn't have to read in order to see. He got a chill up his spine as that frosty gaze lifted to meet his own dark brown ones. While the cold stare most prominent on his face was that of blank stoicism, he could see all of the emotions he'd been displaying in the past, including fear, nervousness, sadness, anger, and confusion.

"Are you Kurosaki Ichigo?" A nod. "Then I found the right person. I'm Hitsugaya Toshiro. Your boss, Konpaku Mod, arranged a meeting for today." How could he forget? Kon would accept any job he could make a profit out of, regardless of how small and off-topic that job is, and Toshiro looked very well-off. Kon's greatest weakness, though? Busty, crying women.

Ichigo stepped aside, letting the perfect soldier, with his pedigree medals of prideful upbringing, walk into his office. As soon as Toshiro was across the room and in the process of getting into a comfortable seat, Ichigo closed his door, thankful to be rid of that ridiculous overhead lighting. Just the electrical hum of that hallway was enough to send Ichigo into a night of pounding migraines bulldozing though his head. Safe inside the dim light of his own, personal office, he went to take his seat, next to Toshiro instead of across from him. It made these encounters more personal, a little more reassuring for everyone. And despite his outer shell of calm and cool, Ichigo knew better.

"Then... Tell me was it is I can do for you, Toshiro." There was a small twitch of irritation in his face, and although physically he didn't move a muscle, Ichigo could tell he had just annoyed the hell out of him.

"It's Hitsugaya-san." Oh yeah, Military. Ichigo smirked. "As for what I need from you, I thought it was obvious. Don't tell me there's false advertising amiss, here."

"No, I can assure you there is none of that. But you would be surprised at how many people who -don't- need my services end up in my office anyway just because my boss is a greedy son-of-a-bitch." Yes, Ichigo was blunt and to the point, a straight-forward guy who doesn't beat around the bush. It didn't get him in trouble, much. Actually, people get along just fine with him.

The corners of Toshiro's mouth twitched, holding it back with just the slightest bit of control, but Ichigo wasn't fooled. He could see that smile spread out through his entire soul. While he displayed grumpy and stoic, inside he was amused and... Ichigo blushed slightly , hoping the other didn't notice, and thinking the room wasn't as dim as he could have made it.

"Well... Perhaps that's true. I told him I was willing to pay anything for at least a meeting, and he told me I would get the best." He paused looking at the taller man, eyes slightly narrowed. "I assume that's you?" He nodded. He didn't like bragging, but it was the truth. "Then as long as I get what I need, you get paid. There will be no problem."

Ichigo shrugged, leaning his head against his palm, which had been propped up by the back of the chair. "What Kon doesn't realize is with me, it's not always about the money. So tell me, what do you need from me? Specifically?"

Toshiro sagged a little, his posture relaxing slightly as he looked away and contemplated what to say. Ichigo almost had a vision of wheels and cogs turning like clockwork in his head. It made him dizzy, and he looked away as well, following Toshiro's line of sight.

His coffee mug from this morning. It was washed, clean, and ready to be taken home to join its brethren in the cupboard. It was one of his favorites, and one of the few his boss would allow him to bring. It was completely black, with simple, lower-case type in white asking, "got coffee?" Personally, Ichigo would have brought and displayed all of his coffee mugs if he could, but mister stick-up-the-ass said something about it not being very compassionate with the clients. How how harmful could it be having a mug that read, "put down the coffee, and no one gets hurt"? Though his co-work, Ishida, told him that the crappy coffee here wasn't worth murder in the slightest, especially since Orihime was making it, so he let that one stay at home. Seriously, that girl had an iron stomach. Maybe tomorrow he could sneak in early and prepare a -decent- pot for everyone...

"Kurosaki-kun..." His attention zeroed in on the man that whispered his name. "I need you... to help me find someone. To get to the bottom of a disappearance that happened nearly ten years ago, and to throw off anyone trying to get in the way." Toshiro finally looked back at him, murder and chaos in his eyes. "I need you to help me find Aizen Sosuke."

**The end**... or is it? You decide, people!


	2. Chapter 2

Mirage: Chapter two

"I need you to help me find Aizen Sosuke."

Aizen Sosuke. Aizen Sosuke... Where did he hear that name before? And ten years ago? It felt distantly familiar, like an old memory lost in a misplaced photo, or a minor detail in an idle conversation with unimportant people. There was no mistaking this feeling, he somehow knew that name, the connection was right here, sitting in the other chair. There was nothing stretching between him and Toshiro, which assured him they had never talked to each other, hadn't ever seen each other, nothing but the knowledge of their names had ever crossed their paths.

And then it clicked, like the flip of a switch, almost audible in his own ears, he regained the memory of an event that he read about in an aging paper, had discussed it in a lecture hall. The disappearance of several small children had been linked to him, but with no leads on his or the kids' whereabouts, the case had turned cold.

But if Toshiro had a lead, why did he come to him? There was a police station just a few blocks from this building, always open and ready to accept anyone who needed help. The only reason he could muster to think of would be that Toshiro -didn't- have any evidence, nothing physical, anyway. Since the courts ruled out mere speculations and gut feelings, then perhaps there was a chance that he could help him out... depending on what he could pick up. If there was nothing, then that would be the end of the road. But even if there was the slightest chance that there could be something, it's a step that could lead to another.

Ichigo stood, taking a moment to look at a picture of his father and sisters. Toshiro must have been a part of one of those children's families, because f it were Karin or Yuzu captured, even ten years after it happened, he would be continuing the search on his own, doing whatever it took to track down the bastard who took them. Even if it meant going to other questionable sources.

He went to the other side of his desk, rummaging through the drawers. "Alright, I'll help you."

Toshiro lifted an eyebrow. "I honestly didn't think it would be that easy. A simple request and you're ready and willing to help?"

Ichigo shrugged, finding the papers he was seeking buried underneath his stash of good coffee and tea. Yes, he had a drawer dedicated to that stuff, because Orihime was terrible at coffee making, people flocked to his desk for their morning pick-me-up. He had no idea how the papers had managed to shove themselves into that drawer, but he was just thankful he found them.

"I told you, I'm not about the money." He looked at him, looking at his face as closely as possible. Yes, physically, there was nothing but stone. Perfect, like the military man he was. Something told Ichigo that, despite his height, if he tried something, Toshiro would kick his ass. But Ichigo could see past that, into the not-so-perfect person he was portraying. For instance, he could see the paths the tears took whenever Toshiro cried, they spilled out from the corners and never over the middle of the lid. He could see something brown and sweet tracing the mans lips, and he had a brief smell of chocolate. Dark or milk chocolate, he couldn't tell. He could almost hear his laughter at a joke he shared about watermelon, and tangibly feel his heart split in two after the damn jerk used him for sex. He'd never forget that fox-bastard's face, and he swore one day, when he was done sitting in the corner and crying his heart out to his busty best friend that he was going to kick that asshole in the balls the next time he saw him-

A hand waved in front of his face, and Ichigo pulled back from it a little to receive a somewhat curious tilt of white hair. He was doing it again...

"Are you alright, Kurosaki? You look a little pale." He was one to talk. Toshiro was paler than he was. "Do you need to drink something from your drawer?"

Wincing, he pulled himself fully to his feet, only just realizing that he'd been leaning over his desk to better look at the smaller male from up close, then he just sort of got sucked in. It was a problem that happened every now and then, but not too often. Ichigo was still learning to control it, and since he was really the only person with this sort of problem, he was learning by himself, so it was a slow-going process.

He shook his head, trying to clear the hazy image of teal eyes smirking at him. "Sorry, I lost focus. It doesn't happen often." He grabbed a pen and a small piece of memo paper, setting them in front of Toshiro. "Let's call in a night. Write down when and where you want to meet tomorrow, and we'll go from there."

Tohsiro nodded, penning the address and time in neat, cursive, elegant writing. It was so pristine and immaculate, Ichigo could make out every loop and dot before he even made it. With proper thanks for the help, a handshake that made Ichigo's toes curl with the effort to hold back his powers again, and a quick wish of an eventful evening, the white-haired man left. Well, his physical form left. The impression on his chair stayed much longer, and it took every ounce of strength in his hands not to reach over and touch the indent. This was utterly ridiculous. He was going to be late to his date with the sofa and television if he didn't leave soon.

He grabbed his coffee cup, turned off both the computer and light, got his coat and proceeded to lock up the door. The blaring lights were blocked by a pair of shades. He'd been getting really sensitive to light lately. He wondered if it was a random infection or something... The only other person in his family that was sensitive to light was his mother, but she was dead and gone now, so he couldn't look into that. Instead, he made a note to visit an optometrist.

Saying farewells to his office-mates, Renji, Orihime, Uryuu, and Sado, he got into his car, sighing with relief that he would at least get the rest of tonight off, but groaning in angst as he realized he was not going to get that lazy weekend like he'd wished. So much for his birthday...

Done! Well, for this chapter, anyway. XD


	3. Chapter 3

Mirage: Chapter three

The sharp ringing of an alarm blaring into his sensitive ears jolted Ichigo awake from a dark, abyssal, dead sleep to an unpleasantly bright and sunny room. A groan fried his vocal chords as he closed his eyes and flopped back down to bury his face in his pillow. In remembering to turn the lights off before he crashed into his bed last night, a major feat to be accomplished by sleep-fogged brain cells, but as the morning sun pierced through his closed eyelids, realization struck him that he had forgotten to shut the curtains as well, otherwise sunrise was a bitch to deal with. With more security in the fact that his pupils would adjust properly to the hideous amount of light in the room, he squinted his vision away from his pillow. The time displayed on the clock meant he had a two and a half hours before he needed to leave for his meeting with Toshiro, plenty of time to get ready, so he took his leisure in fully waking up and getting out of bed. His alarm may woken him out of dreamland, but the sun assured him there was no point in returning to it, so there went any chances of sleeping in. He dragged himself onto tired, uncoordinated feet, stumbling to the kitchen for coffee so he could accomplish full awareness. Setting up the coffee pot and taking out a slightly larger-than-normal cup(Instant Human: Just Add Coffee), Ichigo left it to brew while he took a quick shower.

Thirty minutes later, he was stalking around his bedroom with nothing but a towel fastened around his waist, blowing the steam away from his full cup of freshly brewed goodness before taking a tentative sip. The Rich, bitter taste filled his mouth, and he took a moment to swish it around like mouthwash into every nook and cranny to fully placate his taste buds before letting it travel down his throat and to his stomach. Now he had to go through his wardrobe, where he faced his first dilemma of the day. He wasn't going into the office, which meant he didn't have to wear business casual, but he was still on the job, so it wouldn't hurt to look somewhat nice. After nitpicking through his hangers, Ichigo went for a nice pair of dark, slightly faded blue jeans, black boots, a silver-studded belt, and a solid grey t-shirt. Giving the image in the mirror attached to his closet door a quick glance to make sure the outfit was deemed passable, he took his instant human recipe(french roast) with him as he meandered through the rest of his apartment; the bathroom to spike his hair, the living room to gather his keys and phone, the kitchen to refill his cup whenever it was running dangerously low, and all the spaces in between while searching for his wallet. He found it, oddly, in the bottom corner of the hallway closet.

Brushing off any questions as to how it got there(used to the fact that his stuff was... stuffed into the strangest corners of his abode despite how clean he kept it), he grabbed his shades and a traveling mug to poor rest of the pot into and bring with him. Ichigo's limit was one pot per morning and a specialty venti from a random drive-through in the early afternoon, every day, and the weekends were no exception. He took apart the pot and let the pieces soak in a small tub of hot water inside the sink, throwing away the grinds and wiping down the counter. Cleaning the entire kitchen was an entertaining idea, as he could spot the grime on the stove and feel the stickiness of the floor, however, he didn't have time for that. If he started now, he'd fall into one of his super-squeaky-cleaning moods, rare yet useful, and wouldn't stop until he was finished, but he didn't have time for that. Deciding he would leave something like that for later tonight, the orange-haired male gathered his things, closed and locked the door, and left his parking space five minutes earlier than he scheduled.

Ichigo glanced at the sheet of paper lying open on the passenger seat for him to clearly read with both hands still on the wheel. Toshiro had picked an interesting spot to meet at such an early hour. A bar in the southern district of the city was written there. It was on the poor side of town, and he couldn't help but think that, even though his client didn't look like he would associate himself with such a rundown section of Karakura, it was the beginning of their investigation rather than a lunching spot. Normally, people wanted to meet up with him for some food to give him more information about the situation, but he didn't complain. They can't always be high-end cafes and bistros. Besides, he had given him the the promise that anywhere and anytime was fine. It was a little late to take that promise back considering he was already on the way there. Driving only took about half an hour from his place, which was on the east side of town, but despite traffic he was able to park half a block away and still arrive at the rendezvous with two minutes to spare. "Hitsugaya-san" was impressed.

"You're punctual. That's new. Most of the detectives I've worked with make an excuse of running their own schedules with how late they usually are. You don't know how overjoyed I am to know you're better than that..." Ichigo lifted an eyebrow, causing the other male to chuckle. "Of course, I forgot I was talking to a clairvoyant. My apologies."

He shrugged, taking a sip from his mug. "I don't know what else to call myself, no other word for it, so since that's the closest, I guess that's what I am. If it makes you feel any better, you are a lot better than most of my other clients." He also knew that there was something more to the statement, and Toshiro wasn't telling the complete truth. He was feeling way too happy for something as simple as that, but Ichigo let it go, wanting to get started with this case. "Anyway," he motioned to the bar, "Why bring me here, to the Shinzou Bar?"

The shorter man gestured to the building with a wave, as if to present the dilapidated two-story location in a careless manner, however Ichigo could tell that this was an important place, one that offered many good memories for him. "A friend of mine worked here before he was kidnapped. Granted he was only fourteen, but this is the south side, so it was easy to get a job here at a young age. Do you remember the south side is where most of the kidnappings happened?" He nodded. The north side was practically untouched, and there had only been one or two missing from the east and west sides from specific locations. "So I decided to take you to where the first victim was kidnapped, Kira Izuru. He was a bartender that worked during the afternoons, the slow shift if you will. Ichimaru Gin, his boss, is probably in his office at this hour."

Those mysterious, buzzing vibes were plaguing him again, itching his skin, irritating him as much as they could in order to get him to cave in and dig deep beneath the surface of the dark brick laid into the storefront. His fingers twitched at the strong need to touch, to reach out and see what he would find there. And because he had already made physical contact with Toshiro, it would be so easy to see what it was about this sty that made him smile with affection and seethe with quiet anger. But Ichigo wasn't that kind of man, to take advantage of the vulnerabilities of his clients, to expose them for his own personal hodgepodge of intimate knowledge. Just because he had the ability to do it, didn't mean he should, though that did not mean he was impervious to the pull, to corrupt that privacy and do it, anyway. Things in the shallow end of the aura pool that radiated through the air were different. They were things he couldn't help but seeing, as opposed to consciously using his power to pierce farther into the blacker depths.

He stretched out the arm that wasn't holding his coffee, nails lightly grazing the rough, eroded clay as he searched for a general emotion from the crowd of people who came here on a regular basis, being mindful to keep Toshiro's personal experiences out of his head. Sadness flowed into him, heartbreak, and anger. Negative emotions clawed their way up his arm, gripping tightly to his heart, and Ichigo had to shake them loose with a wave of his hand, batting them away to dissipate in the air before continuing his search for that one certain emotion that would connect him to Izuru, which was doing a right job in eluding him. Now he felt happiness, joy, and faint arousal. Every drunkard's little safe haven away from home. People drowning their sorrows in alcohol, hanging with friends in the dregs of society, and finding a woman, or a man, to keep the bed warm that night. He had to shake those away, too, lest he wanted a tent in his pants. Last thing he needed to be at the moment was drunk.

Beyond all those distracting feelings, he finally was able to hook his senses onto a small line of fear crawling at a snail's pace beneath everything else, cowering like a frightened rabbit hiding from a bloodhound during hunting season. Nervousness sweated his brow with the possibility that someone was using him, and blind devotion to a grinning fox left a foul taste in his mouth. That face had come to him before, in his office. Ichigo frowned over at Toshiro, who'd been studying him with a guarded look. He was used to that look, he always got it from the newbies that hired him, but having that look coming from him made him feel a little disappointed.

"What's his connection to that fox-face? What's his name... Gin?" The grimace was all over that placid face, but he had to know. If he backed off from questioning people just because he struck a nerve, then he wouldn't be as successful as he was. "I realize this isn't a light subject for you, but I need to know in order to do my job."

Toshiro turned away from him, looking at some indiscernible point to his left as he crossed his arms in an attempt to keep his guard up. Physical actions did not prevent the carrot-top from feeling wave after nauseating wave of fury, irritation, nauseousness, and a sick sort of betrayal with a deeper intensity than what he'd felt from the wall. That must've been the white-haired man's feelings he'd sensed after all. For him to mistake it as Izuru's, there must've been a terribly awkward and downright uncomfortable incident that connected the two of them. What made them feel the same way? Izuru's feelings were less intense, but fading happens with time and age. That was the vibe he was getting, anyway.

"Ichimaru Gin an I used to date," the smaller man said, finally opening up a little. He still wouldn't look at the detective, a scowl carved into his brows. He was getting the information, but Toshiro didn't like it. Ichigo commended him, being able to say this even though he was a deeply private person. This Momo person must mean so much to him. "This was one of our frequented bars because both he and I still had friends in this part of town. Kira was Gin's ex-lover, and he and I grew to be friends very quickly, until he was kidnapped."

Ichigo lifted an eyebrow. "Ex?"

That soft voice scoffed, and he relinquished his eye-hold on that random spot to lock on to doubtful brown ones. "Yes. Ichimaru saved him when they first met, and after a week, they became an item." Toshiro was getting better at controlling his emotions, the intensity fading from where it clung to the orange-haired man's mind. "I didn't know why they broke up, but I didn't want to bring it up in case it was a sensitive topic for them, so I kept to the lighter subjects when we were hanging out. But after a month, I found out the hard way why they'd called it off. Gin and Aizen were sleeping together, though not by choice." Ichigo didn't have the option to ask, as Toshiro raised his hand to stop any interruption. He must have really needed to get it out, considering the fact that there was no one else to turn to. Or if there was, the number of people he trusted were small. "Gin was his bitch, plain and simple. But instead of risking anything and everything to get out of that abusive situation, he was weak and gave in entirely, and that is why neither Izuru nor I are with him any longer. If anyone knows where Aizen is, he is the first one who comes to my mind. He told the police he didn't know anything, but I never believed a word of it. I always felt like he was hiding something... Something important to me and Izuru..."

Disengaging his fingers from the wall, Ichigo moved to open the door, standing aside to allow his client in first. "Then, let's see if you were right." He could still feel those insecure waves coming off him, and he'd bet his left nipple that this would be the first time Toshiro has actually spoken to Gin since Izuru's and Aizen's disappearance. If he was going to do his job properly, he needed to harden his feelings. He knew he was going to have a tough time, though, since his heart seemed to chose that moment to start pounding very loudly in his chest. His heart was always getting in the way of his professionalism, a problem he had yet to succeed in solving, but he had no trouble in covering it up.

The young man's aura calmed immensely as he nodded, ducking under Ichigo's arm as he headed inside. It was a good thing they never touched, considering the orange-top's current state of the empathetic jungle twisting and tangling around in his head. It was easier for him to ignore those thoughts for now, and dedicate his thinking to more productive things like this impending interrogation. A few questions came to him almost instantly as a result of what he felt through the wall. Toshiro's storytelling also raised a few flags, so he hoped he was prepared enough for everything to go smoothly. Unfortunately, that was a problem: things almost never went as great as he planned, which fed slight trepidation into his already nervous system.

Even though it was nearing high noon, the bar took on an eerie, drab atmosphere. There were still people here, drinking their lives away, cheering to the five o-clock hour no matter what the time of day it actually was. Dim lights hovered over poorly maintained tables and booths, cheap planks that made up the wooden floor creaked with age and use, and a small portion of the room had several arcade games lining the walls, half of them flickering brokenly or in various other states of neglected and shabby repair. The bar running along the back wall was home to squeaky stools, hundreds of alcoholic beverages, and lighting that was only slightly better than the rest of the space. There was an ever-present cloud lingering in the room, courtesy of chain smokers, and Ichigo had to fight back the urge to cough. He never liked the smell of that stuff, but he wasn't going to go out of his way to try and make every stranger he ran into quit. Different people try many things to relieve their stress. Some chain-smoked their lungs into charcoal, some drank their livers into failure, some ate until their veins and arteries collapsed. He was partial to running. Whenever he wasn't able to get rid of his stress at the end of a work day, he would take his feet out on a run, pounding pavement for hours until exhaustion hit him hard enough to fall asleep before his head even hit his pillow.

He hadn't been that stressed out for several months, considering the lethargic pace his job took up. Not many people would actively search out a fairly unknown clairvoyant detective with a success rate of seventy percent on the good days, much less in as large a city as Karakura that had many,more successful rates than he. Everyone under Kon's employment had extraordinary talent, far beyond that of regular humans, except for the boss-man Kon himself. Ichigo was certain half of his stress was in dealing with his crazy antics. He wasn't much of a boss, all he did was handle finances and what little advertisements the company was able to afford, as well as the clientele. However, that was something easily accomplished by any one of his colleagues in the top-floor offices, who were smarter and could probably have this company exceeding beyond Kon's shabby capabilities in no time. His pocket-picky habit bothered every single person in that building, and Ichigo made a mental note to have a meeting so they could fix a few things, starting with hiring cleaning personnel. It's surprising no one called a health or building inspector yet, and Orihime and Uryuu couldn't keep it up on their own for much longer.

This bar was ten times worse than the office. Ichigo bravely fought off the urge to scrunch up his nose in distaste as they made their way toward the bartender. The guy looked a bit like that Hammer guy his hair cut and sharp sunglasses glinting in the dim setting. It reminded the detective to push his own up into his hair, and sudden;y everything was just a hair brighter. When they arrived at the other side of the counter, he let Toshiro, who obviously knew this man, greet him first, carefully scrutinizing their interactions until he had been properly introduced.

"Oi, Iba! The fox-bastard still here?" That was an interesting choice of words to use while inquiring about the barman's employer, though Iba didn't really look surprised at the language, as he casually hung a wineglass on the rack above him.

"Well, if it ain't Shir-oh-uh... Haven't seen ya in a while, Toshiro!" Ichigo never thought it possible that one little glare from such a short man would be potent enough to make a grown, well-muscled man like Iba hesitate. The forced laughter afterwards was nervous and full of begging for forgiveness. "You hardly ever come around here anymore, though I can't really blame you. How you been doing?"

Toshiro's frown softened a little, and the icy glare was wiped out of those teal eyes. "Better. Not by much, but better." His hand flipped open in front of the orange-haired man next to him in an open presentation. "This is Kurosaki Ichigo, the one I've been telling you about." How strange, considering there wasn't much to tell about him. Nevertheless, he thrust out a hand in greeting the other.

"Tetsuzaemon Iba!" He took the other man's hand in a strong shake, not one that said "I need to impress him," but rather one that said "It really IS nice to meet you." Iba seemed like an okay guy, so he returned the greeting in full force.

It hit him almost instantly, the haze of alcohol blurring his sight and the angry attitude that came with the drunken incoherence. It was sharp, cutting through his senses with such precise blame, it was a wonder his soul didn't start bleeding. There was anger at his job, specifically his boss, at himself for the loss of Kira, at this stupid addiction that he just can't seem to kick out of his life, what little there was left of it. Sober, he was an alright guy, had honorable friendships, and was a general animal lover. But he had no one to go home to at night, no wife, no kids, just a collection of bottles to rival his workplace... Scratch that, his collection -was- from his workplace.

Silence was a loud and eerie thing so completely devoid of sound, he could hear the deafening, high-pitched resonance it created despite the presence other half-passed-out patrons in the pauses like these always happened when Ichigo came out of a trance too powerful for him to resist. It left his head dizzy and temporarily smudged his world into and unclear splotch of color and sound. Sometimes it nauseated him to be hit with both symptoms at once, but they only lasted a minute or so. Iba and Toshiro spoke nearly on top of each other as they saw him come to.

"Kurosaki-san, are you feeling alright?"

"Was that another vision? Is your head okay?"

He held up a hand for both of them to calm down, shaking his head to clear out any feeling of sickness. "I'm okay, really." He should be the one asking if either of them were okay. The past and present he saw was kind of pathetic, enough for him to be slightly worried about the alcoholic working in a place like this. Toshiro wasn't as alright as he pretended to be, revealing the connections he had with those that disappeared. Iba's connection to them both drove him to the bottle. Toshiro was an acquaintance, Izuru was a friend, and Gin was his boss, and since he would surely starve if he gave up his job because of all the drama going on between the three. And since revealing his connection to Izuru, Ichigo had to wonder just how much of a toll it was taking his white-haired companion to remain as collected as he was. Ichigo was just dandy compared to what he had witnessed.

After a small apology and a brief explanation of his power, and passing a test Iba had thought pretty clever(The "what am I thinking" trick never gets old. Ichigo wasn't a mind-reader, but he could sense emotions and, if strong enough, see past events), the two of them made their way to the back rooms to sniff out the owner of this establishment. This being the first time he's ever stepped foot into this place, he let Toshiro lead, and he let his eyes settle on the shorter man's backside. There was not a trace of fat anywhere, and he was by no means skinny. Ichigo could see the muscle built up in all the right places for a strong, athletic body. Endurance to run miles around the city(much like the detective did three or four times a week), and enough power in his arms to carry more than his own weight, the orange-haired seer could only imagine what was underneath his clothes.

He had the power to do more than just imagine, but he wasn't that kind of person, and he wouldn't know just how he might react if he accidentally stumbled upon a scene with him and his ex-boyfriend. The awkwardness in the bar would be nothing compared to what he would feel after viewing such an intimate and private moment, shame at his arousal and embarrassment for breaking Toshiro's silent trust in him to keep out of his head.

The military brat seemed to have a keen sense about what he should and shouldn't do to incur or avoid Ichigo's accident-prone abilities, and that made him kind of suspicious. Was the guy just naturally this smart, or did he know more about him than he was letting on? He would have to ask him later just what was going on, but in the meantime, they had a suspect to question. Tucking away his speculation on Toshiro's psyche and physique for later, he steeled his will, eyes already undertaking an emotionless shine; cop eyes. He had a few friends on the force before his detective job, including Renji before he transferred, so he was able to learn a few things from them.

They found Ichimaru in an office at the end of a long hallway, past the heavy doors holding inventory, and the employee entrance. The room was a complete and utter mess, with stacks of paper everywhere. There was an old desktop computer screen peaking out beneath the mess, but any hope of recovering a keyboard or mouse was beyond gone. There were a couple of chairs against the wall by the open door that gave a profile view of the mess, but they were covered with what looked like a couple of boxes of new inventory. Ichigo sucked in his lips and bit on them, refusing to give into the urge to sweat-drop at the situation.

Toshiro looked unfazed as he raised his fist and slammed it against the wall. The office shook under the force, vibrating in protest at the strength he used, but it still managed to remain intact. Papers shifted in their stacks, but didn't fly off anywhere, and the man buried in the middle of the mess continued his searching in the sea of documents as if that greeting was a regular occurrence.

"I'll be right with ya, Shiro," he said, not looking up as he frantically threw papers about. "I'm happy ta see ya, but I'm in a fix, 'ere, so just gimme a minute, ne?" By this point, he had moved on to the area under his desk, trying to pile up papers as he skimmed through them first to make sure it wasn't the one he currently needed. "Where'n the seven layers a' hell did that damn invoice get ta...?"

His quit muttering was slightly amusing to Ichigo, though this was not an image he expected when he heard and felt him out. The reason for the difference was simple, it was because he was no longer channeling the man's presence through Toshiro's memories and feelings. Right now, he was able to get a mental feed off him without any inhibitions, and it was telling him that Gin was under a lot of long-term stress, and it wasn't due to just paperwork. The worry and guilt rolled off the lanky man in waves so thick, Ichigo had to concentrate on a simple task like breathing. Their sudden appearance made him on edge, and he felt a little sorry about that.

Toshiro pinched the bridge of his nose, mumbling to himself, though Ichigo caught something along the lines of "he hasn't changed." After getting his temper under control, he could tell by the receding heat of the emotion, he looked up with a rueful grin. "Did you try the fax machine?"

There was a pause as the sound of shuffling papers halted, leading the grinning man to frown and look at his fax machine, which was buried in a corner with several papers on it. There was a blinking, green light that stated it was on, but other than that, is was hard to distinguish it apart from the rest of the messy room. Gin made his way over to it, picking up papers and stacking them together along the way. It wasn't so much as he was trying to organize them, more like he was trying to get as much of the clutter as he could off his floor as quickly as he possibly could while his unexpected company stared amused at the entrance. Ichigo was amused, but Toshiro had a drop of annoyance in his expression.

Able to find the invoice he was looking for, the fox-like grin returned and he set the printed paper in the middle of his desk. Somehow, both of the men standing in the doorway thought it might not stay found for very long. The silver-haired man braced his palms on his hips, eyes squinted shut and looking a little sheepish as he finally addressed his guests. Good thing he wasn't wearing a suit, it was hard getting wrinkles our of them, and Gin's clothes were as far from straight and perfect as one could get.

"Hey, Shiro." His red, v-neck tee and dark jeans were rumpled and his hair a mass of strings out of place. Ichigo could feel a stirring in his stomach at his disheveled appearance, and he knew that it wasn't just him. "Who's the hottie ya brought with ya?" The mentioned orange-top's face went as dark as Gin's shirt.

"Stop it," Toshiro commanded, a scowl completely taking over his face as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "When will you learn to act your age? This is a business, not a playground." There was a pout forming on the man's lips, and Toshiro had to turn his head to the side in order to not succumb to it like he used to. "Anyway, his name is Kurosaki Ichigo, and he is investigating Aizen's disappearance."

The main subject bounced around the room, and the fox-faced owner grew really quiet, his face melting into a serious frown. "But the coppies din't help any, so what's he gonna do?" Gin motioned in the detective's spot. "'Cause I can tell ya now, it ain't gonna help tha' ten years up and left any sorta evidence ta dust-mites."

Toshiro smirked confidently, jabbing a thumb to Ichigo's direction as well. He was so sure he was going to bag whatever it was Gin was lying about. "He doesn't need any physical evidence."

Gin lifted his eyebrows, glancing between the two before finally landing on the taller of the two. "Interestin' ta know. How?"

The short adult looked at him, then, silently asking him if it was okay if he demonstrated his talents. He didn't want to. He didn't like showing off, but he proved he'd be able to do this, and prob his mind a little at the same time, then they were one step closer to finding all those missing children, adults now, if they were still alive. He nodded his acquiesce, ready to do anything he could, as much as he could, to help those kids, whether it was to get them back to their families, or to give them proper burial.

He offered Gin his hand, smiling. "I'm a clairvoyant detective. Kurosaki Ichigo. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

That foxy grin of his was on his lips again, and he seemed truly delighted as he took his hand, something Ichigo didn't expect him to do since most people were scared that he would find out their deepest darkest secret if they so much as went near him. But Gin had no trace of that on his face or in his body language, and he fully embraced his hand, even pulling him forward a little so they were a step closer.

A plethora of emotions flooded into him, bubbling up to the surface from deep below, as if they were willing to be discovered, forcing him to acknowledge them, and all he could do was stand, watch, and feel everything Gin had been through during the time Aizen had and hadn't been around. He was charmed the first time Izuru stepped in through the doorway, looking for a job. The blonde was so passive and nervous, he figured he wouldn't last one night, so he gave him one, anyway, just to see how he would do. Impressed when Izuru handled himself and his customers almost perfectly, both went to breakfast that morning, during the few hours when the bar was closed. And after speaking and learning things from each other, they grew close, too close for Ichigo's comfort level, because soon there were thoughts and feelings that started running far deeper than any friend should ever have. And when Gin had acted upon those, they were not rejected, and Ichigo tried to close mental eyes when inappropriate scenes flashed in front of him.

But after a couple of months together, everything started to fall apart when Aizen showed up on his door step. Gin hated that man with a passion, and it wasn't just because he was a hard-ass professor during his college years. There was something sinister there, lurking beneath a strict teacher and a kind persona that believed in tough love, there was something darker, and he played witness to it the last class of the year, when Aizen cornered him, forced him, and left him with a threat of murder if he so much as told anyone. After just a few short years of opening the bar, there he was again, to chain his student to his bed, and made good on his promise that, if anyone knew this, he would tear apart his business, kill Gin, and kill all of his employees, including Izuru. The pain and torment he went through at the knowledge that Izuru could die at any moment if he so much as twitched wrong agonized him for a little over a week, until the blonde-haired man chose to surprise him at the wrong time.

Aizen was there, the day of his birthday, to put him through hell one more time, when Izuru came through the door with wine, cheesecake and a present. He had utterly scarred his poor boyfriend, and he wished more than anything that he could crawl into a corner and fall to pieces if Aizen didn't kill him first. And that sick bastard played off it, delightedly informing the blonde that he was just being used, a pawn for sex and amusement, and that Gin was really with him. Izuru didn't speak to him for a week, and didn't even come to work for a month. But after that month, they were finally able to have that long-awaited conversation.

"Izuru-kun..."

"Just tell me one thing."

"What is it?"

"Are you sorry? Do you wish you had never cheated on me?"

Afraid to tell him the absolute truth that it wasn't him who had wanted to cheat anyway, he settled for a simplified answer. "Yes"

"Then I forgive you."

And that made him feel all the more worse. Izuru went back to his normal, happy self, and came back to work, but their relationship was gone. The blonde would never kiss him again, would never swing by randomly with gifts and declarations of love, nothing. Gin was left with nothing but the arms of an abusive man that, to his suspicion, was only using him for the time being. He hadn't known what he was doing there so abruptly, Aizen never spoke to him unless it was to threaten him, abuse him, belittle everything about him, and he had to wonder when it would be before he broke and killed himself off.

It wasn't until, a week later, he had found himself on a high bridge overlooking an insignificant roadway, in the middle of the night, standing ready and waiting on the railing mere centimeters away from the edge, trying to work up the courage. He ran through everything in his head, making sure all the preparations were complete. The bar was signed over to Izuru in his will. Everything he had, it would go to him. He wrote a note and placed it in a drawer in his apartment explaining everything that had gone on. Aizen wouldn't find it, he never felt the need to go anywhere but straight to his bedroom.

He was three seconds away from ending it all. Three seconds until the abuse would finally stop. Three seconds until the hole in his heart would would finally close up and stop hurting. Three small counters of time and he wouldn't hurt anymore. But those seconds weren't allowed to pass without someone yelling at him from behind. He didn't think anyone would be here at this time of morning, and Kira was still managing the bar when he left, so caught off guard, he turned around with wide eyes at the person who thought was saving him, but was really condemning him. There was a little white-haired person there, glaring at him.

"What do you think you're doing over there?"

Gin had befriended Toshiro, as well as Izuru, loved him much like Izuru, but before he got serious with him, he broke it off. He stepped away from him, tried being cruel and acting like a bastard to him out of the blue. And the white-haired boy was suspicious, so there was only one thing he could do before their dating got too serious. After all, he would rather have him alive and hating him, rather than dead and not feeling anything at all.

He raped him. He almost wasn't able to go through with it, but he did. He raped him and left him, much like Aizen did with him. He didn't leave his bathroom, even after Toshiro was able to move and collect his clothes. He didn't leave his bathroom when Izuru pounded on his door, demanding to understand just what the hell was going on. Nor did he leave his bathroom after the next night when Aizen failed to show himself. He imagined Izuru and Toshiro had a nice long talk about his current relationship with Aizen, but he could show himself, and he didn't climb out until three days later, when his stomach finally stopped quivering with disgust and self-loathing, and grumbled for food. He didn't feel like eating, but what was the point in trying to kill himself again? The last attempt didn't work, why would it this time? Someone else will just come along and stop him, and this whole thing would repeat itself. He should just disappear. Gather his things, leave the bar in Izuru's permanent care, and drop off the face of the earth.

But he couldn't. Not long after he ate, the food came up after one disturbing phone call. "Izuru Kira didn't show up for work today." Iba's voice was like nails to his ears, and he locked himself once more in the bathroom. When he went back to work to face his employees, and to talk to the police, that was a day of depression, and he tried his hardest to get everything back together, for the safety of Izuru and Toshiro and not for anyone else, but each and every day his life was becoming even more meaningless and completely falling apart.

When another blonde found him, this time a strawberry blonde with eyes like the sky and boobs to make any female jealous, he was drunk out of his mind, stuffed into a tiny corner of his bar with no company but a bottle of vodka. That was a year ago, and here he was, now, sober, stronger, a little more confidant, and ready with nothing but the complete and absolute truth.

Ichigo jerked as the memories abruptly flashed away, disappearing into the messy office he was standing in. He could still feel things, witness things, know them like the back of his hand, but the physical setting remained in his sight. Toshiro stood in the doorway, still glaring. Gin stood in front of him, still smiling.

"Hello, Kurosaki-kun." His voice was stable, and his smile turned cheerless. "As you know by now, I'm Ichimaru Gin."

AN: Yesh! Chapter three is finally finished! I've been working on this for so long... XD I'm so happy it's finally done! On to working with UP now!

OH! And another thing. For all of you that read Untitled Preface, Moon's Wing made a fan art for it! O.O YESH! My FIRST fanart! The link is in my profile, please take a look at it! It's great! Now that I've got my first fanart gift, does anyone feel like doing a cover for that story? XD

As always, comments are loved. Please review and tell me what you think!


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